


The Painter and the Assassin

by taiyounoko



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, assassins creed 2 based, falling in love w the badboy assassin rebel, only charas from HQ in this are hinata/kags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 12:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taiyounoko/pseuds/taiyounoko
Summary: The thief’s eyes, now blanketed in dark shadow, bore into his own. He feels the sharp grasp of dread upon his heart. “Stay away from me. It’s for your own good.”He gulps at the bitter tone of the thief. He furrows his brows, frowning. “But you’re in pain, and-“The ‘Fallen King’, they whisper around the square. This is the thief who supposedly steals from those known to preach Friar’s words, taking advantage of the cover of the night. This is the thief who, supposedly, has killed men without mercy.





	1. Chapter 1

_ Firenze, 1498  _

Tendrils of livid flames claw at the sky. They consume not only the black silence of the night sky, but knowledge, nudity, and painted liberation. Men in dark hooded cloaks pile in scrolls, books, paintings into the fire. Their raucous laughter is incited by the cheers of the small crowd surrounding them.

Anything that subverts their cause burns to cinders.

A young man, whose bright hair rivals that of the flames under the faint lamplights of the plaza, watches on from the shadows of a sandstone building. He certainly hadn’t expected a congruence of  _ them _ to appear in the plaza at this hour, on such a night. The lack of the usual jovial young couples and orderly soldiers who are in the plaza leaves a chill down his spine.

In his right hand are a bag of supplies and food he has bought for the bakery. In the other, a leather pouch containing the rest of his week’s salary. He scans the area ahead of him. The friar’s guards, and more hooting townsmen. There is no way he can enter the plaza without being noticed. Worse, questioned.

Only when he begins to consider to take an attempt at stealth and blend his way through unlit corners does he feel a whisper of something against his backside. He freezes in place. 

_ A pickpocket. _

He swallows a lump in his throat.

“Hey!” He cries, though his voice is just above a murmur. He jumps back to scour his eyes over the dark alleyway behind him, barely lit with the dwindling flickers of lantern lights, the white edges carved among the black backlit buildings by the moon’s light, the-

_ The sight of a quick shadow disappearing behind a corner. _ He kicks his legs into a sprint. To him, the sparse, surprised shouts of the men behind him go unnoticed. His mind is only filled with the need to catch the thief. The stranger cuts a corner, and he darts after their tail.

The thief shoots a glance back at him, and the pale light briefly illuminates the side of the thief’s face.

_ Eyes burning with dark, indignant fire, clenched jaws, and vexed irritation. _

A wave of apprehension crackles through his heart, but only for a brief moment. His muscles slacken for a second, and he shakes his head, pushing himself to run faster.

“Come back here!” He shouts, panting. The thief ignores him, being quick to duck around some night going couple and over small crates and boxes, but he is fast. How far have they run for there to be people who are unaware of the Friar’s Bonfire happening just around the corner? Luckily, he makes up for the thief’s tactility and grace with unforgiving agility. It is rather easy for him to follow the path that the thief has paved for him through the couples and businessmen strewn throughout the walkways. He feels the strain on his legs, but the thief shows no signs of stopping, and he begins to feel the first twinge of physical exhaustion. He bares his teeth.

That is, until the thief goes  _ flying _ . That is how it appears to him, at least, before realizing that another figure in the empty alleyway is standing by, their leg held out into the air. The thief was tripped, he realizes. He notices the thief fall to the ground with a grotesque  _ crunch _ , and he winces.

At first hesitating, he treads over, scratching the disbelief out of his eyes as he approaches the body strewn on the cobbled path. The other stranger appears from the shadows, striding towards the thief’s crumpled body. 

“Um,” he begins, stammering. He isn’t sure of what has just happened, but he has a dark, sinking feeling alluding to what will. “Who- who are…”

As the thief groans, attempting to use his elbows as leverage to push himself up, the other mysterious man slams his boot- lined with metal into the thief’s chest, shoving them down. The thief lets out a groan. The thief is a man, he sees now. Despite the clear agony, however, he briefly notices the thief pull his hood up, over the side of his face. 

The offending man turns to him with a hardened stare that sends chills down his spine. The stranger reaches into his pocket to pull out a small leather patch. 

A badge of the state police. 

“I’m with the police,” the man barks. The policeman leans his weight onto the thief’s chest. His grin grows as the thief’s face contorts in humiliation. The policeman shifts to slam his boot again into the thief’s hand leaning over to ogle the thief’s features. The sounds of crackling underneath the policeman’s boot eerily resonate throughout the alley, and he feels a chill crawl down his spine. He returns his gaze to the policeman’s sadistic glare.

“Can’t  _ wait _ till I can see his ass hanging in the plaza,” the man cackles, shoving his weight into the thief’s hand. The policeman ignores the supressed, humiliated groans of pain. “Fuckin’ thieves.”

His eyes widen, eyes flitting back and forth between the supposed policeman and the thief. He can tell this thief is poor and weak, judging from his ragged outfit, and he grimaces.

“No, that’s not- he’s not a thief,” he says, his mouth moving before his mind does. His palms are beginning to tremble at his sides, and he can’t help but think that he is about to vomit. The threatening glare the policeman sends him certainly doesn’t help his pounding chest. He looks down at the thief, meeting the man’s gaze- filled with shame, or gratefulness, or resentment- he is not sure. 

Something stirs within his chest. 

“Then why were you running after him?” the policeman growls, grinding his foot into the thief’s chest, causing the man to cry out. “Sure as hell didn’t seem like a game of  _ tag _ among grown men, now did it?  _ Merda _ . Shit.”

His heart thrashes like a bull in a cage. “No, you don’t understand,” he argues. It is difficult to speak when his mouth feels loose and wobbly. “I was just- he didn’t pay for his full meal at the store I work at, so I was just running after him to get his full payment, so-“

“So, he started running away from you? Sounds like the damn definition of a thief,” the policeman sneers, pulling out his baton and slapping it against his palm. A crack echoes through the alley, resonating with the pounding heart within his chest. 

It is now, being unable to control the wavering of his eyes, that he notices that the dark, cobbled stone walls around them feel more menacing than familiar. 

The policeman smirks at the thief, cutting off all efforts to escape with a kick to his side. His eyes widen. “I’ll be bringing this damn  _ thief _ to the cells-“

“No! No,  _ per favore _ , please, you don’t understand,” he cries, interrupting the police officer. He jumps when the supposed policeman leans in close, throwing him the most vile glare he has seen in his life. 

“ _ What _ don’t I understand?” he growls. He can smell the vile stench that comes off the man’s breath, and he shrinks back inadvertently.

His eyes falls to the thief, who is watching him with a keen stare. The officer cracks his knuckles, and he whimpers. The policeman cocks his head to the side with a grin. 

“It- It was just three Denaris, for a bit of the soup he bought, please,” he stutters. “It really wasn’t that much, just, I work at a cafe in Plaza Santo Spirito,  _ please _ let him-“

“ _ Fine _ !” the policeman snarls, smashing his baton against a stack of crates nearby. One explodes into a hurricane of smithereens, and his shoulders jump. “God damn kids, wasting my damn  _ time. Figlio di puttana! _ Son of a bitch!” He leans over to snatch the thief by the collar, heaving him up and shoving him against the alleyway wall. The thief only exhales air in response, his head hanging low. “And I tell you, if I see your damn ugly face stealin’ something again, know that you’ll be rottin’ till you  _ die _ in a jail cell,” he snaps, throwing him to the cobble before stomping off with a huff. “ _ Cazzo _ . Fuck.”

Once he is sure that the policeman has left, he takes a few deep breaths, willing his heart to start pounding in his chest and his breathing to settle. That is before he hears a straggled cough from below him. He gasps, hurrying over to the thief’s side, the fact that the thief has stolen his salary long gone from his mind. 

He peers into the thief’s face, though the man refuses to meet his eyes. He reluctantly raises a hand to his shoulder, biting his lip. 

“Um,” he begins, unsure. The thief doesn’t react. “We should, um-“

He is cut off by a slight force against his chest. He glances down to find the thief’s arm, pressing his sack of coins against his tunic. His eyes widen as his eyes fall to the ugly mosaic of purple and black that stains the thief’s hand.

“Take it.” The thief struggles out a haggard cough.

“I-“

“Just  _ take _ it,” the thief grunts. He attempts to move his arm to push himself up, though to no avail. He collapses before his body is barely off the ground. Finally, the thief raises his gaze enough to meet his eyes. His lips part in surprise. 

The man certainly does not have the appearance of a ratty street urchin as he had expected. Despite the dirt and bruises that mar his features, the thief has piercing navy eyes that reminds him of nights on the Arno River, especially when the moon is shining, full, overhead; a similar intoxicating beauty is reflected there. The man’s lips let out heavy, exhausted pants of air.

He ends up staring at the thief for a second too long. “Don’t pity me,” the thief mutters, and he cocks his head to the side for a moment, lost. The thief spits out a dark wad from his lips that paints the stone walkway crimson. His eyes widen at the sight of the morbid crimson that has appeared on the edge of the man’s lip. 

“You crazy religious nuts, and your reversion to the Medieval ages bull- argh,  _ merda _ .” The thief groans, clutching his chest. He tries to offer a hand to the thief, but the thief only bats him away.

“I need to help you,” he says, ignoring the blatantly incorrect assumptions the thief has made of him. “I’ll get a doctor-“

“Are you an idiot?” the thief asks, scowling. In contrast to his obvious fury, however, he also appears mystified, his dark eyes narrowed at him. His gaze falls to the welt that scars the flesh of the thief’s jaw, right below his neck. His eyes flash in surprise. 

A blood red crown. The _ ‘Fallen King _ .’

Before he can process his confusion, the thief- the ‘ _ Fallen King _ ’- pulls his hood over the skin, almost instinctively. 

_ The rumors, what the townspeople say- _

The thief’s eyes, now blanketed in dark shadow, bore into his own. He feels the sharp grasp of dread upon his heart. “Stay away from me. It’s for your own good.”

He gulps at the bitter tone of the thief. He furrows his brows, frowning. “But you’re in pain, and-“

“I’m-  _ fine _ ,” the thief insists, though his words come out in between short, painful gasps. “Just leave me to-  _ urk. _ ” The thief lets out a series of hacks that make him cringe. The thief lets his head hang in seeming exhaustion.

“I can- whoa!” he cries as the thief’s body goes limp, collapsing into his chest. He shakes the man’s heavy shoulders lightly. There is no response.

The thief is passed out.

He looks around him. Despite the scuffle between them and the police, presumably being a narrow, dark alleyway, there is nobody nearby to help. He scans the thief’s body, and his eyes land on the slight welt at the underside of the man’s jaw. An upside-down crown screams an ugly crimson against the man’s pale skin.

The ‘ _ Fallen King’ _ , they whisper around the square. This is the thief who supposedly steals from those known to preach Friar’s words, taking advantage of the cover of the night. This is the thief who, supposedly, has killed men without mercy. 

This is the thief who has been tortured by the state, they also say, though the ugly welt on his skin disproves this now to be a mere rumor.

The thief has at least twenty centimeters in height over him and many, many more kilograms in weight. He stands nothing in comparison to the thief.

But,  _ he _ has hours of daily experience hauling heavy loaves of unbaked dough around the bakery of the cafe, and the excessive overconfidence of a young male. He can do this. Will.

He hooks his arm underneath the thief’s unharmed arm, folding it around his back, and uses his other arm to hold the thief’s hand in place. He tries to use his legs as leverage, grunting in the process, and he is able to push himself up so that he is standing. He just manages to balance his satchel on his shoulder. He pats himself on the back, giving himself a pitiful smile.

Slowly, he makes his way back to the cafe under the cover of city lamplights, with only the sounds of the thief’s shoes dragging against the cobbled walkway to accompany him.


	2. Chapter 2

He limits himself to back alleys and unpopulated walkways on the return trip, for he doesn’t want to begin to imagine the reaction of those in the plaza to a man dragging an apparent dead body around. Luckily, those at the Friar’s Bonfire have left, leaving a ghost of the usual plaza behind.

He arrives at the back entrance of the cafe. He shoves the door open with his shoulder, and he is greeted with the familiar scent of spices and sugary pastries. He smiles, despite the exhaustion that aches in his back and legs. Perhaps he had been overconfident of his physical skills. 

“Hinata!” A voice calls. He jumps- there is nowhere to hide the body. “Where did you run off-  _ cristo! _ Christ!” It is the head baker, Giovanni. His eyes are wide, and he nearly drops the spatula from his doughy hands. “Hinata,  _ who  _ in the world-“

“It’s just- it’s just a person who I saw collapsed in the street,” Hinata protests. To the look of confusion and irritation that crosses Giovanni’s face, Hinata starts again. “He was a customer I recognized, I had to help him!”

Giovanni scans the body with narrowed eyes, and Hinata bites his lip as Giovanni’s gaze pauses at the dark bruises that color the thief’s arm. He raises a brow, and meets Hinata’s eyes, before sighing. “Just make sure you don’t drag him up front,” he says. “Last thing I need are those damn men from the church coming in to check my premises.” He huffs before turning around to return to the front of the store.

“Thank you, Giovanni!” Hinata returns with a smile. 

And so, he sets off to drag the thief the rest of the way up to his room, climbing a set of narrow, high stairs and passing down a creaking wooden hallway to reach his bedroom. Shouldering the door open, he rests the thief down on the rug beside his bed. 

Hinata lets out a breath, wiping sweat off his brow. If taking the thief to a local doctor is not an option- considering the notoriety of the thief's scar- then he will have to take care of the ‘ _ Fallen King _ ’ himself. 

He gathers some expensive herbal pain meds from a hallway cabinet, as well as a pail of clean, cold water and a few clean cloths from the back kitchen downstairs. He’s not  _ exactly _ sure of what he is doing, but if there’s one thing he’s learned from his childhood, it’s that some herbal meds and a clean bucket of water can do wonders for any mild health issues can do wonders.

When Hinata returns, the thief still lays unconscious on his rug. Hinata walks to the  _ ‘Fallen King’ _ ’s side with his materials, setting them down beside him. He sits down to begin cleaning off the thief, who, Hinata notices as he is wiping down the man’s forehead, has quite a decent looking face. 

Objectively, of course, Hinata reminds himself. At least, it’s not one he’d expect from a street thief. He shakes his head, muttering a curse under his breath.

When Hinata finishes cleaning, washing, and wrapping the thief’s major injures, Hinata takes a small break from his procedure to gather some of Giovanni’s clean clothes. He returns to the man’s side to dress the man with a light tunic before once again dragging the thief over to his bed, and lifting him up just enough so he can rest the man on his own soft covers.

Hinata lets out a heavy sigh and admires his own handiwork. At least he has…  _ dabbled _ in the arts, and his hands are used to meticulous, precise labor. Some of the white cloths that wrap around the man’s disfigured hand are a little crooked, but alas, he cannot be perfect attempting practices he has not actually practiced.

Hinata stretches his arms and back, letting out a massive yawn. The orange lights outside that pour in through his window from the plaza are quite bright for the nighttime, but he is certainly not incapable of sleeping under the warm lights of the city. 

Though, the silence outside taints the calm night air of Florence from the bustling and laughter that Hinata is used to. The nose-wrinkling odor of burnt paper does nothing to alleviate the tense air.

He shakes his head. There is no point in worrying of this tonight. He takes a bundle of warm, thick tunics from the bottom of his closet and sets it on over his rug as makeshift bedding before falling to a deep slumber.

-

Hinata awakens to the noise of frustrated groaning. He moans himself as he gets up. His back is far more sore than normal, and his arms and legs protest the slightest of movements. 

He spots a strange glint in the corner of his vision, so he turns to his side whilst stretching his back. 

He freezes at the bitter cold pinch at his neck.

A dagger.

Hinata’s eyes lock with the man from the night before, crouching over him on the bed, and Hinata’s eyes trail from the line of the man’s pale arm to his wrist, to right where Hinata’s own chin blocks the view of the weapon at his neck.

He thought- he was  _ sure _ he’d removed everything threatening from the thief’s clothing…

“W-what are you…?” Hinata stammers, his voice catching over the usual morning scratchiness of his throat. The thief watches him with seething, boiling eyes, and Hinata finds himself foolishly unable to move. 

Everything comes back in a flash. The pick pocket, the policeman, the physical beating. The mark of the ' _ Fallen King'.  _

_ What  _ had he been thinking?

“Who are you?” The thief demands, pressing the blade deeper to Hinata’s skin. Shivers crawl over Hinata’s body.

“I’m- I helped you,” Hinata whispers, eyes unmoving from the thief’s unforgiving stare. “Yesterday, with the police-“

“I’m not an idiot,” the thief snarls. Hinata winces. “I’m asking why you brought me here, and  _ who you are _ .”

“I’m-I’m Hinata di Giovanni,” Hinata rushes out, trying to ignore the bitter prick of the blade against his neck. “I just work in the cafe in this plaza,  _ please _ -“

“Then what business did you have bringing me here?” The thief demands. Hinata doesn’t miss how the thief grimaces as he shifts on his side. He’s still in pain from the wounds. “Do you know who I am?”

Hinata’s eyes dart to the scar on the man’s neck. The mark of the  _ ‘Fallen King _ .’ He returns his gaze to meet the thief’s. It is even more menacing than before, holding him like knives pinning him to a wall. “You’re the thief everyone talks about,” Hinata breathes out. “The ‘ _ Fallen King _ .’”

The thief’s eyes narrow for a mere second, before his stare eases. Hinata gulps.

“Why would you bring me to your,” the thief looks around, seeming to judge carefully. “Home?”

“Because you were in pain!” Hinata hisses, and gasps when the thief digs the knife harder to the skin at his throat. 

“You know who I am,” the thief continues, glaring as furiously as before- or is there wariness there, too? “Only an idiot, or self-seeking enemy, would help  _ me _ .”

“I-I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” Hinata stammers, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“You should have fucking  _ killed _ me already. Don’t I go against all of your damn preachings? Your savior,  _ Savonarola _ ?” The thief spits out the words like it is foul dirt.

“N-no!” Hinata protests, before realizing his confusing statement. “I mean- I’m  _ against  _ Savonarola!”

The thief narrows his eyes at him, eyes flashing. “How do I know you’re not lying to my face?” It sounds more of as a statement than a question.

“I’m not, I swear I’m not!” Hinata insists in protest. An idea bolts through his mind, and he gives a nervous smile. He jumps to the side, reaching under the bed.

“Hey! Don’t move,” the thief threatens, his knife still pointed towards Hinata’s head. 

Hinata puts his trembling hands up. “I wasn’t going to do anything! I just have to show you something!”

“What’s under the bed?” the thief presses, furrowing his brows. “I swear, if it’s a weapon, I’ll kill you.”

Hinata leans back, biting his lip. He curses his excessively shaky fingers. “It-it’s not,” Hinata stammers, gaze falling to the space under the bed, and rising again. “It’s to prove I’m not your enemy!”

The thief’s glare deepens. Hinata stares back, until the thief gestures beneath the bed with his chin. “Then show me.”

Hinata slowly reaches his hand underneath the bed, trying to hide the way his hand shakes. It is difficult not to, with a knife aimed at his neck. There is some fumbling, and then he grabs what he is looking for. He slides it out from underneath the bed.

Pots full of paint, and a stack of messy sketches.

When Hinata looks up, the thief has lowered his blade, staring at what Hinata has dragged from under the bed.

“Art?” the thief murmurs, eyebrows raised. His eyes have lost their aggressive glare. Hinata nods, quickly, and the thief continues. "You create art."

Hinata allows a small smile across his lips, letting out a long breath that he hasn’t realized he’s been holding. ”Yes, I'm an artist," Hinata says, looking off to the side. "Though I haven't created anything for a while, since-"

“You’re against Savonarola, too.” The thief's words cut into his own. Hinata can see the wide-eyed stare of the thief, the toxic rage of moment’s past now gone. Hinata nods slowly this time. He slides the materials back underneath the bed, before meeting the thief’s eyes once more. 

“Do you trust me, now?” Hinata asks. The knife is no longer pointed at him, the thief’s arm instead falling limp at the thief's side.

“No,” the thief says, and Hinata feels a small weight of disappointment weigh on his chest. The thief’s eyes are narrowed, but Hinata can see the almost flustered way the man purses his lips. “But I know you’re… not against me.”

Hinata nods, awkwardly, and hold still at the silence that follows. He clears his throat, which makes the thief flinch, and Hinata has to cover his mouth with his palm to smother the nervous laughter that almost pops out of him at the thief’s unlikely childlike reflex. 

He isn’t going to be  _ killed _ . He won't be killed for some silly, foolish mistake! 

The thief seems to find his youthful insolence uncomfortable, and glares at Hinata. Hinata feels the need to fill in the silence and begins to ramble. “So, um,” Hinata says, finding his breath calmer. “What’s your name?” 

The thief’s head jerks toward him as if he has said something absurd, and Hinata recoils back. “W-what?”

“Why do you care about my- ah,  _ cazzo, _ ” the thief swears, wincing as he moves his arm. Hinata leaps up onto his knees, and leans over the bed.

“Are you okay?” Hinata asks, his hands landing on the thief’s arm. The thief stiffens. 

“I’m fine,” The thief snaps. He forces Hinata’s hand away and raises his injured palm to test the movement of his fingers. “And you’ve given me medicine.”

“How did you know?” Hinata says, mouth parted in surprise.

“I’d be screaming if I could feel my hand right now, is how I know,” the thief responds, giving him a condescending look. “I’m not an idiot, unlike you.”

“W- _ what _ ?” Hinata cries, getting up so that he is higher up than the thief’s eye level on the bed. “I’m not an- I  _ helped _ you, I bandaged you, I gave you-“

“I don’t care about how much you ‘gave me’,” the thief growls, throwing him a poisonous glare. “I didn’t need it.”

“What?” Hinata shouts, clenching his fists. His face begins to heat up. “Of course you did! You were injured!”

“I don’t need your sympathy,” the man retorts, “Or anyone’s, for that matter. I’m just a thief. You shouldn’t have even bothered with me.”

Hinata falls silent, unsure of how to respond. The thief is no longer looking at him, instead clenching his fists so tight they turn white at the sides of the bed. His face is one of suppressed rage, his jaw taut and his eyes boring through his hands, and Hinata finds it impossible to keep up with the jumbled emotions that the thief restrains and expresses every second.

The thief is silent, for a while. It is a strange discomfort that suffocates Hinata’s lungs. 

And then, to Hinata’s surprise, when he returns his gaze to the thief’s face, he finds the thief looking aside, his anger seemingly long forgotten. There is only a trace of emptiness in the thief’s eyes.

He does what only someone who has trained his social skills in hundreds of confrontations with rude customers can do.

“I- um,” Hinata stammers, eyes swimming. “You can- you can call me Hinata.” 

He knows it is a tricky attempt at changing the subject. It does not help that the thief has a blade at his side and a sensitive temper. “Giovanni, the owner of this cafe… He said that you should stay at least two weeks, to rest.”

There is a distinct pause. Then, Hinata hears the thief shift in his bed, closing his eyes and sighing. “ _ Merda _ .”

“You really have a mouth on you, don’t you?” Hinata jokes, an attempt at a small joke that is cut short by another severe glare of the thief. 

“It is what happens when you are forced to live on the streets for years,” the thief states. He huffs. 

Hinata clears his throat, unable to look the thief in the eyes. “Two weeks is how much time Giovanni said you would need for your hand to fully heal, though he suggested a month.”

The thief looks at his hand once more, before looking at Hinata. “Who is Giovanni?”

“A baker who owns the cafe downstairs,” Hinata answers. Another pause.

“That’s a strange way to refer to your father,” the thief comments. He stretches his hand, and then his wrist.

Hinata’s eyes widen at the word, his heart stuttering loudly. He swallows, looking away. “He’s not my father.”

He hopes he is able to pass it off as nothing.

The movements of the thief’s fingers pause mid-air. “Then where is your family?”

Hinata gulps, his gaze falling to the floor. He gives a false, weak smile before speaking. “Dead,” Hinata whispers. “You could say they’re dead.”

The thief stares at Hinata for long, daunting moments, before he begins to feel smothered by the tense air around him.

“You-“

“I’ll go get you something easy to eat,” Hinata stands up, forcing a smile. He turns for the door. This is not the atmosphere to provide a guest, and he curses his eyes and the tears that threaten to escape. “Just don’t get up.”

Hinata hurries towards the door, feeling pinpricks of heat that begin at the corners of his eyes and the  _ pain _ , the pain that pierces through him from his back through his chest all over again-

“Kageyama,” the thief mutters, just loud enough so that it is audible for Hinata. “…Fiorentino.”

“Kageyama! Fiorentino!” Hinata yelps, swiveling on his feet so he faces the thief. “That’s your name?”

“I… Yes,” the thief answers, his eyebrows pulled close yet eyes opened wide as he stares at Hinata. “You…”

Hinata feels warmth, and wetness, on his cheeks, and his hands shoot up to cover his eyes and his cheeks. “Oh,  _ merda _ , um,” Hinata stammers, rubbing at his eyes violently. “Sorry, you had to see that-“

“I don’t-“

“Stay while I get food!” Hinata shouts, shoving the door open and bursting into the hallway before the thief is able to utter another word.

No.

As his breath heaves and his tears fall, he remembers the name of the thief in his mind.

Kageyama; that is how he should refer to him.


	3. Chapter 3

After the crying incident, Hinata avows never to cry in front of the thief, Kageyama, again; for the thief is a fighter and warrior for a noble cause in his eyes. A warrior who is able to stand up against fears that he could never do the same for.

Hinata only returns once to Kageyama to give him the meal he has promised: warm milk and cold water, pasta with beans and red sauce, and Osso Buck, bathed in a hearty vegetable-based sauce glistens on the plate, all atop a wide wooden platter. He does not meet Kageyama’s eyes, nor say anything when he shoves the platter to Kageyama, who in turn takes it with guarded eyes that burn into his own averted ones.

“ _ Grazie _ . Thank you,” Kageyama mutters, and Hinata is surprised by the warmness that fills his chest.

That does not stop him from leaving silently, quietly, with a nod.

-

When Hinata returns to the room that night, he expects to find Kageyama sleeping.

He is wrong.

Instead, he finds his bed empty and Kageyama in the middle of his room, arms poised in the air and legs placed in a stance in such a way that leads Hinata to believe Kageyama has been practicing combat.

They stare at each other for a few moments. Hinata takes a step forward. “I told you not to leave the bed! You could’ve injured your hand further!” 

Upon closer inspection, Hinata notices the beads of sweat that dot Kageyama’s forehead, and his chest that heaves lungfuls of air.

“You’re…“ Hinata is cut off by a sharp intake of air. He sees Kageyama grip the cloth at his chest.

“ _ Merda, _ ” Kageyama gasps. He takes a knee, groaning. 

Hinata rushes to his side. “Were you practicing fighting?” Hinata demands. He leans over Kageyama’s shoulder with concerned eyes.

Kageyama faces the floor, his dark bangs shadowing most of his expression. Hinata curses the eyes that refuse to meet his and the mouth that refuses to answer, as well as the fact that the thief on his knee is just slightly lower than himself standing.

_ Merda _ , he mutters in his mind.

Hinata glares at the top of Kageyama’s head. “I warned you what would happen! Why didn’t you listen?” Heat rushes to his head. He frowns, however, at the bruises that peak out of the bandages on Kageyama’s hand. “No wonder I thought I heard some loud noises from upstairs, down in the kitchen.”

The thief gives Hinata a glance that speaks more than words. Then, he looks away, though just as Hinata opens his mouth to reprimand him, the thief rises. 

“H-hey, where are you going?” Hinata asks, stepping forward. “You must- ah!”

Just as Hinata raises his arms to block Kageyama from moving, Kageyama loses his footing. Hinata jumps forward, one leg ahead of the other, landing just at Kageyama’s side as he begins to lean over. Hinata uses his front leg as leverage to pull up Kageyama. The thief stumbles backwards for a moment before Hinata gains a confident grip on the thief’s side. 

“You  _ must _ rest-“

“Don’t touch me,” Kageyama mutters, trying to weasel his arm from Hinata’s grasp. Hinata refuses to let go. “ _ Porco Demonio _ , God damnit, let go of me!”

“No!” Hinata shouts back, tightening his grip on Kageyama’s chest. “Get on my bed!”

The thief glares at him, and Hinata finally notices the unfocused pupils of the thief, the red glow of his cheeks. “I was going to-“

“You have a fever!” Hinata cries, putting his palm against the thief’s forehead. Placing his hand over warm coals: that is what it reminds him of. Hinata grabs at the thief’s collar, and pulls him towards the bed.

“I told you not to touch-“

“You are getting on the bed,” Hinata orders, narrowing his eyes at the thief. He thrusts down the man’s shoulders so he is forced to sit on the bed, though cursing his abrasiveness when the thief curses and clutches his stomach. “Lie down.”

“Quit telling me what to do,” Kageyama retorts, with equal vexation.

Hinata scrutinizes the red blush that spreads across the thief’s chest and glares at him. “You’re one to talk.” Hinata steps away, holding his stare as he turns towards the door. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Hinata rushes downstairs, feet falling against the wooden steps like a swordsmen sparring with wooden blades. Earning the curses and wild gestures of Giovanni as Hinata passes him by in the hallway, Hinata is back upstairs with crushed peppermint water and another wet cloth before he can think.

Hinata flings open the door to his bedroom. Kageyama is still lying on his bed as he placed him, now watching him with careful eyes as he approaches. 

“This has traces of peppermint, which will help soothe your temperature,” Hinata says, answering the thief’s unspoken question. “And a wet cloth, for your forehead.”

Kageyama blinks, staring at the items offered towards him. After a moment, he takes the water, gulping it down and placing the glass on the floor.

“You really need to stop pushing yourself this way,” Hinata criticizes, pressing the thief’s shoulders down so his back lies against the bed. He folds the cloth in the air, placing it against the thief’s forehead. Hinata gives a weak, satisfied smile.

He only realizes he hasn’t met the thief’s eyes until Kageyama seizes his wrist with his uninjured hand, and Hinata’s eyes shoot down to meet Kageyama’s.

“Why do you do this for me?” Kageyama demands, his eyes fatigued but his words insistent. Hinata’s eyes widen at the urgency in Kageyama’s eyes. “You don’t know me. You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Hinata winces, and he feels the thief’s eyes on him for a moment before letting go of his wrist.

Hinata’s heart thuds at Kageyama’s words; because they strike him as  _ true _ , and yet the mere thought of leaving this thief to die on the streets turns his stomach. He meets Kageyama’s eyes again, and sees several emotions floating in the small, dark pools of night: wariness, mistrust, suspicion.

“I-I shouldn’t,” Hinata says. The words tumble from his mouth as stubborn brown sugar does from a paper bag. “I shouldn’t, but I am.”

“ _ Idiota _ ,” the thief mutters, and Hinata turns wary eyes expecting anger and haughtiness, only to find mild exasperation. “Stop repeating what I’m saying.”

“I’m not meaning to!” Hinata defends, leaning forward. He becomes aware that he is leaning both elbows against an injured man’s chest, as well as how close the thief’s flushed face is. He removes the weight and leans back. “I’m just- I would never leave someone to die on the streets!”

“So if I were one of Savonarola’s men, or someone else of equal threat,” Kageyama says, eyes narrowed, “You’d still save me?”

“Never!” Hinata barks, surprising even himself with the vile anger that leaks from his words. Kageyama stares at him with equal astonishment. “I mean- I’d never…” Hinata trails off, grasping at the bed sheets beside Kageyama. He curses his own simple-mindedness. “I wanted to save someone who- who understands how horrible Savonarola can be.”

That sounded patronizing, he thinks, and gazes off to the side. Patronizing, conceited, and self-serving. He wanted to ‘ _ save’ _ someone.

“Savonarola ruined many things, and he’s a part of why I am who I am now,” Kageyama says, and Hinata slowly raises his gaze, eyes unbelievingly wide. His heart pounds at the inquisitive stare of the thief. “Though not all.”

Hinata’s eyes furrow in empathy; because he, too, has suffered a similar fate, when phrased in such a way. “We’re not so different, I suppose,” Hinata comments. “You, the notorious thief of Florence, wanted by the state police, and-“

“And you, the artist who lives above a cafe, who also happens to be a thickheaded idiot,” Kageyama continues. “We  _ are _ different.”

“Hey!” Hinata starts. He thanks the small break from tension; it feels like a weight has lifted from his shoulders. “It’s called being selfless-“

“Yes, but a selfless idiot is still an idiot,  _ idiota _ ,” Kageyama insists, grabbing the top of Hinata’s wild head of hair, and pushing down. He opens his mouth to continue, but pauses, staring at Hinata. “What?”

“Nothing?” Hinata answers in a question, cocking his head to the right. Kageyama is giving him a strange, suspicious look he’s never seen on the thief before.

“Your face is getting pink,” the thief says, matter-of-factly, and Hinata throws his palms to his cheeks. Now that he thinks of it, his face  _ does _ feel warmer than normal, but he hasn’t realized it until now.

Now that Kageyama has mentioned it, though, he knows the warmth in his cheeks only grows.

“It’s because we were arguing!” Hinata protests, clutching both of his cheeks with his palms. “And- and you didn’t listen to my instructions.”

Kageyama narrows his eyes. “What instructions?”

“To not get out of bed, least of all practice fighting! Your chest and arm are still injured.”

“Have you ever fought before?”

“No!” Hinata cries, before the thought processes through his mind. “Wait, what?”

“I said, have you ever been in a fight before,” the thief repeats. Kageyama’s gaze probes his own to an unsettling degree. His mind doesn’t quite catch up with the question, and he shifts back. 

“What?” Hinata asks, furrowing his brows and crossing his arms. “That came out of nowhere.”

Kageyama bristles. “It wasn’t out of nowhere. You mentioned my practice, so I related a question.”

Hinata pulls a slight face. The physical prowess of the thief has never felt more intimidating compared to his own lankier build. The genuine curiosity of the thief does nothing to help his shrinking confidence.

“I-I  _ have _ fought,” Hinata says, nose in the air, “once.”

Surely, that intersection of combat between himself, Kageyama, and the corrupt police officer could be counted as some involvement in battle.

He does not expect the light that flickers in the thief’s eyes. “So you’re familiar with Vadi? Or Fiore’s treatise?”

Hinata’s eyes widen. His own adds to nil. 

“I-I don’t think I have,” Hinata confesses, lowering his head. He sees Kageyama’s clenched fists loosen. 

“I see-“

“ _ But _ ,” Hinata offers, “Maybe you could- show me something?” He is stammering. It is difficult to meet Kageyama’s eyes. “Of course, not when you’re injured. Maybe you could just verbally tell me, or instruct me, something of that nature?”

He has been rambling. He sees that when he identifies the glint in Kageyama’s eyes to be something between suspicion and regard.

He clings to the regard. “It would be really great! I’ve always been interested in learning how to fight-“

“You’re too weak to fight,” Kageyama declares, “And too stupid to fight.”

“What- hey!” Hinata cries, face flushing. “Nobody said you could-“

“But, I may be able to teach you,” Kageyama says. His gaze is intense, almost matching the caliber of when he’d put a knife to Hinata’s throat.

Hinata swallows his words down, watching as Kageyama shifts focus to fixing the wrapping on his injured hand. “If you really want to,” Kageyama adds. “I won’t hold back.”

Hinata sees the glow of lifted spirits in Kageyama’s eyes, and allows a small grin. “Oh, I’m ready for anything.”

He decides he likes the new-found sparkle in Kageyama’s eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Hinata has long believed that he has a powerful mind. His physical capabilities fall far short of his mental abilities, but he’s believed that with a strong mind, it will not take long for his physical abilities to catch up.

He is wrong.

“No, don’t hold the dagger like that,  _ idiota _ ,” Kageyama criticizes, fumbling with his grip on Hinata’s hand. He adjusts the hold of the dagger. “It’ll slip easily from your hands during actual combat.”

“Hmph,” Hinata grouses, scowling. In this training that he has brought upon himself, in his opinion, there is far too much emphasis on stance and grip and form and not enough on slicing and leaping and throwing an adversary over his shoulder.

They stand underneath the night sky of Florence, most of the stars clouded over and obscured by the lights of the lamp lights of the plaza below. Unlike the night that Hinata discovered Kageyama, however, cheerful citizens of Florence roam the streets, their laughter and chatter floating up to the rooftops upon which they stand.

“Cut out the attitude,” Kageyama warns, tightening his grasp around Hinata’s wrist. “You’re going to get yourself killed being reckless.”

“Well, you should cut out the condescending- ow!” Hinata yelps as Kageyama slaps the backside of his head. “That hurt! You’re stronger than you think, you big- big nincompoop.”

Kageyama’s hands pause. He glares at Hinata. “Nincompoop,” he repeats. 

Hinata purses his lips, raising his chin in the air. “Yes, I’m mature, and I don’t use profanities around people I’m tending to.”

“Could’ve had me fooled with your short height-“

“We don’t mention that around here!” Hinata protests, cutting into Kageyama’s words. His face must be red. Kageyama’s honest, unquestioning expression only serves to add fuel to his irritated fire. “You’re tall! Don’t make fun of my height!”

Kageyama furrows his brows. He crosses his arms- or at least, attempts to, before cursing and setting his injured arm aside. “Why? It’s a fact,” he says. “Being short gives you an advantage in battle.”

Hinata pulls a face, expecting some of sadistic turn of the phrase to further mock his height, only to find genuine interest. He scowls further. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not a style that I’m used to, but you can fight with stealth instead of brute force.” Kageyama stands straight, his eyes to the side. “It is what my mentor taught me.”

“Mentor?” Hinata repeats, taking a step towards Kageyama. 

Kageyama lets out an exhale. “My mentor, for fighting,” Kageyama says in muted tones. “He was… killed.”

Hinata feels something frigid run down his back. His eyes fall to the ground. “I’m sorry,” Hinata murmurs. “That’s-“

Kageyama clears his throat and shakes his head. “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

Hinata opens his mouth to say that it was not, though he holds himself back. An uncomfortable silence follows.

He opens his mouth again.

“What’s your fighting style?” Hinata asks. He does not pay attention to the surprised jolt of Kageyama’s shoulders. “You said ‘brute force?’”

Kageyama breathes in and sighs. “Not necessarily,” he says, adjusting his legs on the chair. “I just tend not to use weapons so much as my fists.”

Hinata widens his eyes, nodding. “That explains your muscles!”

Kageyama gives a single, slow nod. His expression is suspect, questioning, and Hinata thinks back on his words. His face erupts in a proud blush. “I wasn’t looking at you, or anything like that!” Hinata excuses, waving his hands in the air before him. “It was just when I took your clothes off to-“ He curses how the words sound from his mouth. “When I  _ disrobed _ you to fix up your wounds, I noticed the high volume of muscle you had.” 

He stares at the cobbled floor, willing away the flames from his cheeks. Curse his running mouth.

“I guess I do,” Kageyama says, narrowing his eyes in thought. “You could say that I train often on the streets.”

Hinata blinks, raising his gaze to the thief who so proudly accepted his praise, instead of modestly turning it down as he had expected. He points a finger at the thief, pulling a face. “That’s quite arrogant of you to say, you know.”

Kageyama glares, staring down Hinata and his pointed finger. “I’m telling the truth.”

Hinata opens his mouth to argue, before shutting it once more. Kageyama’s words hit him in the chest like bricks; the  _ truth _ . This thief, who has lived on the streets for years, received a branding scar as some form of punishment- who is wanted by the state police- 

He wonders if Kageyama trusts him.

"How about we take a break now, and you go back to my room," Hinata finally offers, and both of their bodies lose tension. Kageyama nods, and they head for the doorway.

* * *

When Hinata returns to his room, he believes he may just have a heart attack.

The thief, Kageyama, leans over the edge of his bed, an arm grasping at sheets of paper. He is staring at the paper, bewildered. 

Teary embarrassment forgotten, Hinata freezes in place, as does Kageyama.

Kageyama gives him a judging stare. “You’re…” Kageyama begins, and Hinata swallows the lump in his throat, waiting for the insults;  _ indecent, dedicated to the obscene, moral lacker- _

“You’re…  _ this kind _ of artist,” is all Kageyama says, holding a small can of red paint in his hand. 

Hinata lets out a steady breath. “Yeah,” he answers, hesitant. 

“What do you paint?”

“I-” Hinata says, taking a reluctant step towards Kageyama at his bed. Artists like him have been ridiculed by the rise of the church and friar Salvandola in politics and society, colored as freaks obsessed with the lewd. With the curiosity that Kageyama is demonstrating, however, it doesn’t  _ appear _ as though he hates the arts.

“You’re… you’re okay with it?”

“Obviously,” Kageyama answers, taking out a stack of papers. As he begins to flip through them, Hinata is struck by a lightning of realization. 

“Wait, no, stop, stop!” Hinata cries, dashing over to Kageyama’s side. Just yesterday, when his life didn’t involve a thief in hiding, he’d just finished a  _ nude _ sketch of a  _ man _ he had spent the week on, and he can’t have Kageyama seeing it. “ _ Stop _ !”

His cries are a little too late, however, as Kageyama’s hand freezes in place, and Hinata recognizes the nude male portrait he just completed yesterday right below him. His face bursts into burning flames. He can’t look Kageyama in the eye, no, he’s going to be disgusted, he’s completely-

“Oh,” is all Kageyama comments, before stacking up the papers haphazardly with one hand and returning it underneath the bed.

Hinata peeks out from behind his fingers, hesitant. “You’re not… you’re not going to say anything?”

Kageyama gives him a knit-eyebrow look. “There’s not really much to say,” he says, returning Hinata’s art supplies and pictures back to under the bed. “I don’t have a problem with it.”

“O-Oh,” Hinata responds, feeling a weight lift off his chest. He shouldn’t feel this relieved, but he does. It’s just a stranger he’s housing, no one that important. It’s not like he’s here to stay; for them to get to know each other, or anything, so he doesn’t have to feel conscious of what he does. “Thanks…?”

“Don’t thank me,” Kageyama asserts, turning to face Hinata. “I’m not with the Church, and I couldn’t care less about your secret hobbies.” Hinata’s eyes widen. He’s not really sure what Kageyama is referring to; whether it’s his lewd art, which has been condemned by the Church and Savanorola, or his clear interest in men’s bodies, which has also been condemned by both movements. 

Kageyama huffs, before his eyes wander. “And, my mother was an artist, too.”

“What?” Hinata jumps, taking a few steps forwards towards Kageyama, who shifts back in response. “Your mother’s an artist?”

“Was,” Kageyama corrects, narrowing his eyes, and Hinata freezes. It is a haunting word,  _ was _ . “She was killed.”

Hinata bites his lip. “I’m sorry, I-“

“It’s fine,” Kageyama interrupts. “Don’t feel bad for me.” Kageyama shifts in the bed so that he is more comfortable, sighing. “She taught me some things, about painting, but not too much.”

“Oh,” Hinata whispers, his mouth forming the words,  _ I’m sorry,  _ before he stops himself. “What- what did you like to paint?” 

“Anything,” Kageyama says, coolly. “People, animals, landscapes; my mother helped me with everything, but I…” Kageyama pauses, taking a deep breath and exhaling. “I never really learned enough.”

Hinata leaps at the opportunity. “Oh, I can help you!” he exclaims. Kageyama gives him a surprised look. “I can teach you anything, anything you want!”

“My hand is broken,” Kageyama says, lifting his right arm covered in cloth. 

“Oh, um,” Hinata says, hesitant. “Maybe, in a month, once they’ve healed…?”

Kageyama glances at him for a second before looking away quickly. “Maybe.” He pauses, seeming to think. "Maybe, as an exchange for my teaching you how to battle."  


Hinata's eyes widen. He begins to nod before he speaks. "That sounds like a great idea!"

Kageyama gives him the smallest of smiles, and Hinata feels his heart flutter not unlike when he painted the images of men.


	5. Chapter 5

It has been nearly four days since Kageyama took to Hinata’s bed. Giovanni still believes Hinata is just nursing a sick customer, even introducing himself to Kageyama while Hinata was bringing him his meal on the second morning of his arrival, and Kageyama has grown more and more vocal about his disapproval of being bedridden.

As for Hinata himself, his back is entirely too sore at this point from sleeping on just a rug and a few clothes.

Kageyama’s constant protests to leave the room, beginning with the bed, have grown entirely too irritating for Hinata to handle. He is not exactly sure of the medical procedures that should be constituted from Kageyama’s injuries from the brawl, but Hinata persists, insisting that Kageyama stay in bed to allow his body to heal. 

Until now, that is.

“Just let me-!”

“Stop it! Don’t,  _ ack _ !” As Kageyama tries to pull off his bed covers (which results in some restraining from Hinata, cries of pain from Kageyama, and a series of apologies from Hinata), to which Hinata responds by clambering on top of Kageyama on the bed to hold down his bed covers, and Kageyama kicking him in the side. “Don’t  _ attack _ me, Kageyama!”

“Because you’re forcing me to defend myself, dumbass!” Kageyama says, pushing back against Hinata’s grip on his wrists. “Just get off- get  _ off _ of me, and let me off this damn bed!”

“No-  _ ow! _ My back hurts, watch out for my back!” 

“Why would I care about your-“

“Because it’s from sleeping on a wooden floor for three nights in a row, in exchange for my poor patient’s comfort-  _ ow!” _

Kageyama uses his foot to shove him to the side, and takes the opportunity to roll off the bed, collapsing onto Hinata’s makeshift bed on the floor with an, ‘ _ Urgh! _ ’

Hinata rolls over on the bed so he is looking over Kageyama’s fallen body. He bites his lip, scanning Kageyama’s body. “Um,” he begins, lips quivering. “Are- Are you…” His shoulders jump when Kageyama uses his elbows to brace himself up, sitting back on the floor and wiping off his knees.

“Yes, I’m  _ fine _ ,” Kageyama rolls his eyes, glaring at Hinata. “I don’t need to rot away in your bed just because my  _ hand _ is injured-“

“But your feet, too! And your chest!” Hinata argues. “Those were also swollen and bruised, when you first came here!”

Kageyama narrows his eyes at him. “Why were you looking… never mind,” he trails off, scratching his hair roughly for a second, before meeting Hinata’s confused gaze. “Feet heal quick over those kinds of things, and the  _ cop _ ,” he spits out the word like phlegm, “Barely hurt my chest at all. So, I can use my legs.” He demonstrates by standing up confidently.

And he is  _ tall _ . He towers over Hinata’s bed, and Hinata realizes, for the first time, that Kageyama is much taller than him, though he didn’t really have the opportunity to do so during the fight with the cop. 

Hinata gulps, eyes scanning over Kageyama’s physique. There is a brief period of silence before his stairs is cut off by the sound of Kageyama clearing his throat. His eyes jump to Kageyama’s, and his face grows hot.

“I- I wasn’t-!” Hinata squeaks, unable to meet Kageyama’s eyes. “I was just comparing-“

“Just get up,” Kageyama says, gesturing his hand towards the door. “Let’s go.”

“ _ What _ ?” Hinata takes a moment to hop off the bed, making a mental effort to not feel intimidated by the good dozen or two centimeters that separates their heads. He furrows his brows at Kageyama’s statement. “Since when do you control what I do?” He takes a moment, however, at Kageyama’s knowing look, to rephrase his ironic words. “I mean, since when do you get to control where I go outside this room?”

“Since now,” Kageyama says, heading off to the door with Hinata in trail. He stops short, turning to face Hinata. “Where did you put my tunic, with the hood?”

“Oh, um, I washed it,” Hinata says. “It’s drying now, though.”

“I need that one. Where is it?” Kageyama asks, holding the door open so they are both in the hallway. 

“I can get it,” Hinata says, heading off to a small balcony that faces an alleyway off of the main plaza. He reaches for the clothing hanging off the string, grabs Kageyama’s black tunic, and heads back inside. 

He hands the tunic to Kageyama, who quickly pulls it over his undershirt (which is his own, Hinata realizes with a blush), and Kageyama returns to the way he looked the first night they met. He makes a point to fasten the tunic near his jaw, so his scar is unable to be seen by the common eye.

“Shouldn’t you wear a different shirt? I can lend you one of mine,” Hinata offers, watching Kageyama fasten his tunic in place. “Won’t people recognize you in that?”

Kageyama glances at him, shaking his head. “Most people don’t actually see me,” he says, finishing tying the last string on his tunic before heading down the hallway, with Hinata in tow. “Nobody knows it’s me in the daytime.”

“Oh,” Hinata says, pausing. “But aren’t you infamous in this plaza, especially?”

“I guess, but that’s only because most of Savonarola’s supporters congregate here, next to Santo Spirito, where he was educated.” At the surprised look on Hinata’s face, Kageyama narrows his eyes. “Didn’t you even know that, growing up-  _ oh. _ “

“I came here just about half a year ago,” Hinata says, avoiding Kageyama’s eyes. “And Giovanni, the owner, was the only person kind enough to take us off the streets, so that’s why I live here.”

“Oh,” Kageyama murmurs, and Hinata notices that his voice sounds softer than usual. 

Hinata shakes his head, pulling his lips into a tight smile. “Let’s just go wherever you need to go,” he offers, tugging on the sleeve of Kageyama’s tunic. “And I can do some shopping, too.”

Kageyama is frozen for a moment, before he thaws, nodding. “Oh, yeah,” he says, nodding in agreement. 

They leave the building through the side door, and enter the familiar city plaza of Santo Spirito. It is sunset, and the night is quickly devouring the subtle pink and orange hues of the daytime sky.

The crowd is a bustling, breathing creature around them, and despite the cries of bards and fanatics, it still feels peaceful. Hinata nearly loses sight of Kageyama a couple of times, before he feels a warmth around his wrist. Surprised, Hinata meets Kageyama’s eyes, which are reluctant to meet his own.

“Just so you don’t get lost,” Kageyama professes, looking directly ahead of them- anywhere but at Hinata himself. “Idiot.”

“Wh-Hey!” Hinata pouts, urging the tingling sensation in his arm away. This is nothing, he reminds himself; this is normal, just two unlikely acquaintances holding hands so they don’t lose the other in a crowd. “You don’t know where-“

Kageyama turns to face him with a pouty glare, stopping so suddenly that he nearly causes Hinata to run into his back. “Where are we going?” He asks, hesitantly but loudly.

“Across the Arno, to Plaza Signoria,” Hinata shouts back, for the crowd is too loud for him to simply answer at a regular speaking tone. “I have to buy some goods there!”

Kageyama nods, and Hinata decides to surprise  _ him _ by adjusting where their hands meet so he has a firm grip on Kageyama’s good wrist. He feels Kageyama’s arm jump underneath his palm, and Hinata can’t help but let a smile dance across his lips. “Come on!” 

Their walk down the warm glow of the city lights is comfortable, and without the threat of someone recognizing Kageyama, Hinata feels safe by his side. To Kageyama’s irritation, Hinata decides to take this opportunity to race him along while still holding hands, causing a series of expletives to fall from Kageyama’s lips.

Hinata decides to take the Vecchio bridge instead of the Santa Trinita, for the views are much more exciting on the Vecchio, where colorful houses float above the river, especially in the nighttime. Their walk is littered with Hinata teasing Kageyama, pulling hard on where their hands meet to draw attention to the wares of interesting peddlers, to which Kageyama scolds Hinata’s childishness, only adding to Hinata’s lightened mood. He feels like he is floating, and it is not solely due to them being on such an exquisite bridge.

Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of perfume attacks Hinata’s nostrils, making him wrinkle his nose.

“What is-“

“ _ Hello _ , boys,” a sultry voice calls. Hinata whips around a pack of women in ornate, flowing, matching rose-colored dresses. Their collarbones are pale and exposed to the air, and their faces are covered in eye flattering, rosy blush makeup.

Hinata gulps. These women are from a brothel, and they all seem to be facing Kageyama beside him.

One woman reaches out to brush her hand against Kageyama’s chest. Hinata feels Kageyama reflexively shift back, just avoiding the tips of the woman’s fingers. The women giggle. Hinata looks up to find Kageyama blankly watching the woman, and feels a stabbing pain in his heart.

_ What if he chooses them? What if all he wants is a woman from a brothel for one night of pleasure? _

“Let’s go.” Kageyama’s voice cuts into Hinata’s worries, jolting him out of his reverie.

“What-“

“Hey, where are you guys going?” The same woman from before calls, smiling devilishly, her friends snickering. “I thought-“

“We’re not, um-“

“I don’t have time for you, and neither does he,” Kageyama cuts in, gesturing to Hinata with his head. “Go find other men to bother.”

A chorus of gasps explode from the women behind them as Kageyama pulls away Hinata by his hand, leaving Hinata to stare, open-mouthed, at the back of Kageyama’s head.

“Kageyama,” Hinata finally says, tugging his hand away from Kageyama’s grip- to no avail. “What was-“

Kageyama’s grip on his wrist is rough enough to silence Hinata, and he slows down. Kageyama seems to notice, turning back to look at Hinata.

“What are you doing?” Kageyama asks, staring at a bewildered Hinata.

“I don’t know- I just assumed you’d go with them,” Hinata says, feeling heat rise to his face. Now that he says it and he can see Kageyama’s odd-eyed stare, he caves into himself, poking his pointer fingers together. “Because, um, you’re a man, so.”

“Would you have gone with them?” Kageyama counters, eyes narrowing. 

“I-no,” Hinata splutters, face growing hotter. “I don’t- I’m not interested… in  _ them _ ,” Hinata stammers, eyes flickering around.

“Well, it’s the same thing.”

Hinata starts, blinking several times. “It’s definitely not the same thing!” Hinata protests. Because that would mean Kageyama liked…  _ men _ , which just isn’t possible.

There is a terse silence that follows between them.

When they arrive at Plaza Signoria, Hinata is quick to pick out the stands where he often buys his goods, such as his clothes and soap. While Kageyama is distracted while looking at other stands in awe, Hinata buys a few pricey Florentine cookies, hoping to indulge together with Kageyama when they get home. 

“What are you looking at, Kageyama?” Hinata asks, after finishing his purchases, walking up beside him. It is the dairy stand, filled with the aroma of expensive cheeses, fresh from the countryside, as well as delicious-looking milk.

Kageyama’s shoulder jump, as if he is startled to see Hinata standing next to him. Hinata isn’t sure if it is because of the orange lamplights that Kageyama’s cheeks glow a pink hue. 

“The milk,” Kageyama says, quietly, so Hinata can barely hear him over the conversation of customers around them. “I can’t remember the last time I drank milk.”

Hinata stares at him, eyes widening. He is curious of what Kageyama  _ has _ been drinking on the streets, but he’s also afraid to know the answer, and stops himself. 

He turns to the merchant under the booth, who is organizing some of his wares underneath the table. They have milk back at the bakery, but this will be a special treat, Hinata thinks with a smile. “Excuse me,” Hinata shouts over the table, earning the attention of the clerk. “How much is one galloon?”

“Ten denaris!” The man calls out, picking up a one gallon bottle. He shows off a signature smile. “Fresh from the Tuscan countryside!”

“Sold!” Hinata says, passing the sum of coins over the stall in exchange for the cold glass bottle. He grins, waving at the man before turning to Kageyama and holding it out for him. “Here!”

Kageyama, however, is looking at him with a strange expression; a steely one, mingled with a wide-eyed stare. 

Hinata grins, taking Kageyama expression as one of good-natured excitement. “Just take it, dummy!” Hinata encourages, bringing the bottle to Kageyama’s chest. 

Kageyama is still frozen, and Hinata gets an idea. He pushes his finger to Kageyama’s cheek, pushing it upwards in an awkward, contorted smile. Hinata grins, trying to will away the fuzziness in his chest. “You know, when people buy you things, you’re supposed to say ‘ _ thank you _ -”’

“ _ Idiota! _ ” Kageyama suddenly seethes, grabbing Hinata’s wrist with his good hand and shoving it away. Hinata squeaks in surprise, brows knit in confusion at the sudden shift in Kageyama’s behavior. His mind is racing, his breath caught in his throat. Hinata jolts as the grip on his wrist grows painful to the bone, and his eyes jump to meet Kageyama’s. 

“ _ What _ are you doing?” Kageyama demands, shaking his wrist. Kageyama’s hand is freezing against his, and Hinata just wants to disappear, fade away from the judgmental eyes of the crowdgoers around them. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t comprehend why Kageyama is suddenly bitter and so biting.

“I was just trying to- _ ow _ ,” Hinata moans, feeling tears brim at his eyes, and he looks up to meet Kageyama’s eyes again, and the grasp on his wrist loosens. Hinata can feel bystanders watching them, and he feels sick and  _ stupid _ , stupid for buying this expensive milk, stupid because he actually  _ cares _ of what the thief thinks of him, stupid because he thought he could will Kageyama’s pain from his past away just by buying him  _ milk _ , because clearly, he’s done something wrong.

“I was trying to make you happy, because you sounded like you really wanted the milk,” Hinata says, yanking away his hand from Kageyama. His cheeks are burning at knowing how ridiculous he sounds, how he must look to the people watching them. “But I guess that was just  _ stupid _ of me to do!” Hinata takes a shaky step back, refusing to look at Kageyama’s eyes. 

Before Hinata knows what he is doing, he takes off running through the crowd. He isn’t sure if he actually hears his name being called from behind him, or if it just his hopeful imagination; his feet pound against the cobbled stones of the square, and he hears angry shouts and curses from city night-goers and merchants, but he ignores it all. He shuts his eyes, simply letting his feet take him wherever they will him to go-

And Hinata  _ slams _ into someone’s chest. Hinata rubs his forehead, moaning. His eyes fly open in surprise. 

He is nowhere he recognizes. There are just a few couples and groups strolling down the dark, unknown walkway. He must’ve strayed out of the plaza, somewhere. 

“ _ Oh, in the name of our savior, Savonarola! Medici has been defeated, and our leader needs  _ your _ support to defeat the clergy! How much do you say?” _

Hinata spins around, and comes face to face with a bard, touting the word of the notorious friar sickeningly close to his face. Hinata takes a step back, eyes widening. The bard continues to rant on, playing his lute into his face as he smiles. 

“ _ Oh, young man! You must have some coins for our leader, no? You must have something to spare to better the life of Firenze!” _

Hinata feels a wave of nausea rising in him as reality begins to overlap with painful memories- miserable, black words that rush over him like a tidal wave-

‘ _ Medici is no longer our leader; you should feel  _ proud _ to have a man like friar Savonarola in our government! How many times do I have to tell you? And how  _ dare _ you defame our family name by spending time with- with disgusting men like that?’ _

_ ‘Father, you’re overreacting-‘ _

_ ‘Do not tell me how to act, and lest of all, do not call me ‘father!’ And what are these  _ paintings _ ?! Lewd and obscene, all of them! You tarnish our bloodline!’ _

Frozen lungs, and a hammering heart.

_ ’Hinata, these are truly despicable.’ _

_ ‘Mother-!’ _

_ ‘Please, Hinata, take what you own and leave, and lose your surname.’ _

_ ‘What?! Mother, Father, I-“ _

_ ’Don’t touch me!’ _

“Don’t touch me,” Hinata whimpers, hands trembling at his sides. He feels waves of nausea overcome him and takes a step back. Everything around him begins to fade out, feeling more surreal and foggy. 

The bard’s taunting face is all he sees in his vision. Everything else melts to blurriness.

“I-I don’t have-“ Hinata places his hand directly over his sack of money, barely having the time to realize and curse his own stupidity before the bard is eyeing where Hinata’s hand protects his money, grin splitting his face wider, reaching his arm-

Suddenly, there is a brilliant gush of wind, a flying figure-

“ _ Oomph! _ ” the bard cries, toppling backwards. His lute crashes into pieces beside him on the cobbled path. He is unmoving, the wind knocked out of him completely.

Before Hinata comprehends what is happening, Kageyama is leaning over the bard, reaching forward to grab the man by the collar with his good hand. Though the man whimpers, begging for his life, Kageyama spares him no mercy, slamming him down into the stones. 

“Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ -“ Kageyama snarls, and Hinata swears he can feel the fury radiating off of his body, even from several meters away. His eyes are blazing, his arm taut as he holds up the bard by his neck. Kageyama shakes the bard, roughly, who is visibly trembling at this point. “Take that  _ savior Savonarola _ bullshit,” Kageyama growls, “And shove it up your religious  _ asshole _ .” 

Kageyama doesn’t spare a second, shoving the bard back down into the ground and fixing him with such a ruthless glare that the bard, stumbling, takes off with the remnants of his broken lute with him. At the small crowd of onlookers that has formed, Kageyama transfixes them with a vicious scowl, and they disperse.

“Y-You’ll never forget this!” the bard cries in the distance. It would be almost comical, save for what the bard has triggered within Hinata’s memory, and Hinata’s inability to stop trembling. 

Kageyama hurries to Hinata’s side. “Hinata!” Kageyama yells, worry evident in the way that his voice shakes. Hinata meets his eyes, but his limbs feel frozen and his mouth feels to loose for him to properly speak. 

Kageyama raises a hesitant hand, but lowers it when Hinata doesn’t move. “Hinata,” Kageyama repeats, more insistent. “ _ Hinata _ .”

Hinata meets Kageyama’s eyes, which are wide and panicked; and he falls forward, into Kageyama’s chest, leaving the thief with only the option to grab him.

“Hinata, what happened?” Kageyama says, and Hinata’s chest twists at the way Kageyama’s voice drops, and how he can hear Kageyama’s heartbeat, but he still feels frozen, like his body is immobile.

“Home,” Hinata whispers, clenching at Kageyama’s tunic as if holding on for dear life. “ _ Home _ ,” Hinata repeats, more insistent this time, burying his face deeper into the cloth that surrounds Kageyama’s chest.

“Okay,” Kageyama says, pausing for a moment before nodding. He shifts his arm so it is around Hinata’s shoulders. “Let’s go home.”


	6. Chapter 6

Their walk is silent; antithetical to the lively, glowing Florentine nightlife that wafts around them dreamily. All the way home, Hinata only feels is the distant but comforting force of Kageyama’s heartbeat by his side, thrumming softly at his ear and slowly bringing him away from the agonizing memories of the past.

When they arrive back in Hinata’s room above the bakery, Kageyama leads him to his bed- his real bed- and sets him down softly, wincing slightly when he accidentally applies pressure on his broken hand. Kageyama lights a candle on the night stand.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” Kageyama says, keeping his eyes on Hinata longer than Hinata is used to, before he turns to the exit.

Hinata nods weakly in response. For some odd reason, the mention of drink reminds Hinata of the milk he purchased for Kageyama, and he finds himself distantly wondering if Kageyama left it in the Repubblica Plaza, or if he finished it all, and then he begins to wonder why he spent so much money on  _ milk _ , for a thief, of all people. And why he went ahead and  _ touched _ Kageyama’s cheek in public. He knows that relations between men is much more common in Florence than anywhere else in Europe, but with the rise of Savonarola, he knows that a growing distaste, or hatred, among some, is growing among the general populace. And yet, Hinata, without thinking, simply went ahead and touched Kageyama affectionately; although, he convinces himself, there is no true affection between them. It had just been a small act of teasing.

The door suddenly opens, washing his muddling thoughts away. Kageyama enters with a glass cup of water, eyeing him closely in a way that makes his gaze jump away. Kageyama closes the door behind him, and strides over to Hinata’s bedside and kneels to hand him the cup.

“Here,” Kageyama says, handing him the glass, and Hinata ignores the fleeting rush in his chest that is growing familiar, now. He takes a small sip, relishing the cool feeling in his throat. “Better?”

“Y-Yeah,” Hinata replies, eyes not meeting Kageyama’s. He places the cup on the floor beside the bed, eyes downcast. Kageyama is still watching him, intently. 

In the small silence that follows, Hinata feels the need to fill it, and decides to empty his mind.

“That bard,” Hinata begins, lowering his gaze. He is pushed on by the feel of Kageyama’s eyes on him. 

“I-he-“ Hinata stumbles, feeling the familiar feeling of curdling nausea again. “He said things that reminded me of- of what my,” Hinata pauses, swallowing a lump in his throat. The horrible, sinking pressure in his chest grows. “My parents said to me, when they got rid of me.” He is finally able to breathe, though he realizes, now, that the pounding feeling has returned to his chest.

“Hey,” Kageyama whispers, exhaling through his nose. He cautiously places his hand on the sheets, beside Hinata, and Hinata’s eyes jump open for a second. Kageyama’s fingers are playing with the bedsheets, as if he is nervous. “It’s okay. What they said doesn’t matter.” Kageyama clears his throat, and when Hinata raises his gaze, Kageyama is staring at his hand that is gripping the sheets beside him. “It’s in the past, and all that matters is who you are, now.” He pauses, taking a breath, as if he is overwhelmed by just talking. “And they didn’t  _ get rid _ of you. You’re still here. They don’t own you, you kn- Hinata?”

Hinata sniffs, and he is just as surprised as Kageyama to find that tears are welling at the corners of his eyes, small pools of emotion that have been hiding, deep down within, waiting to escape, who have finally taken Kageyama’s words as  **gospel. ** His chest feels lighter, just by a few words from a thief.

Hinata, flustered, wipes them away, sniffling. “Sorry,” Hinata murmurs, feeling his face grow hotter. “I- um. T-Thanks.”

“…Yeah,” Kageyama responds, after a moment.

“I’ve never really talk to anyone about… that, before, so.” Hinata pauses, ducking his head slightly and smiling awkwardly. “Thank you, Kageyama. It meant a lot to me.” 

At the silence that follows, Hinata raises his gaze, confused. Kageyama appears frozen still. He knows thanking Kageyama would warrant  _ some _ awkwardness, but not this much discomfort-

And that is when Hinata realizes that Kageyama’s cheeks are  _ red _ . So very red, that any rose that Hinata has seen would lose to the shade that decorates his countenance.

“Kageyama…?” Hinata begins, feeling his own cheeks begin to warm as well. He’s never seen Kageyama openly  _ blushing _ , never so red before, and Hinata wonders if he is the first person to witness this kind of rare spectacle. 

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all of that-“

“It’s- it’s fine,” Kageyama says in a dismissive tone, though there is something more embarrassed and flustered underneath. His hand leaves Hinata’s bedside, and he raises it to the back of his head, scratching it roughly.

“I- We should sleep,” Kageyama suggests, lowering his head. “You need rest.”

Hinata decides that  _ this _ is one of the most irresistible sights he has seen, and has to fight back the urge to pet Kageyama’s head, lest the thief murder him in cold blood.

“So do you!” Hinata counters, and he allows a smile to come across his lips as he sees Kageyama’s lips fall into a small frown. Kageyama grunts, turning away from Hinata to lie on the floor, leaving Hinata to furrow his brows. “Wait, Kageyama,” Hinata says perplexedly. “What are you…?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“Wait, Kageyama, you can’t-“ Hinata jumps up, scrambling off his bed to tug at Kageyama’s sleeve. “Sleep in my bed!”

“ _ What _ ?” Kageyama shouts, giving him a look as if he has just grown another head, and Hinata looks at him, estranged, before realizing the implications of his words. 

Hinata’s face heats up. “I meant, you should sleep in my bed, and I’ll sleep on the rug!” Hinata corrects, willing away the sudden burst of heat in his cheeks.

“What- oh, right,” Kageyama says, looking at anywhere besides Hinata, before shooting a gaze directly at Hinata. “Wait,  _ no _ . You sleep on the bed, and I sleep on the floor.”

“ _ What _ ?” Hinata cries, shaking Kageyama’s sleeve irritatedly. “No! You’re the guest, you have to take the bed!”

“No!”

“Yes!

“No, I’m not going to, Hinata, I swear-“

“I swear on Savonarola’s ass, what in the  _ hell _ is the ruckus about?” A voice booms, and both Kageyama and Hinata jump. They look up to find Giovanni, in loose night clothing, fixing them with a hard glare that is amplified by the shadows cast by his candle. 

“Hinata, what are you doing to the poor customer? And why haven’t you taken him to a real doctor, yet?”

“I- um,” Hinata stammers, mouth fumbling awkwardly as he tries to come up with an answer. “We were just, um, arguing about what to eat  tomorrow , and we just couldn’t decide-“

“Seems like you two have become quite close friends, hm?” Giovanni asks, yawning and letting his eyes scour the room for a moment before returning to the raucous pair. “Is that why you haven’t taken him to a real doctor?”

“Yes!” Hinata cries, nodding too quickly. He ignores the low groan Kageyama emits. “That’s exactly why, Giovanni, we’ve just been inseparable.”

“Huh,” Giovanni mutters, waving the candle lazily beside him and sighing. “Makes sense, with all those detailed male portraits you draw.”

Hinata and Kageyama are paralyzed as Giovanni exits. Guffaws of laughter echo down the hallway, the door providing little protection from his elderly laughter.

“He- he saw my portraits,” Hinata whispers, face blooming red. He cups his face with his hands, unable to look at Kageyama. “Oh my God, he  _ saw _ them. Not just my regular paintings, but  _ those _ portraits, too.”

“Now, I’m definitely not sleeping in the same bed as you,” Kageyama responds. Is it Hinata’s wishful thinking, or is there a slight teasing tone in his voice?

“Goodnight.”

“Kageyama!” Hinata whines, grabbing his pillow and smacking it against Kageyama’s side, earning a satisfactory ‘_ouch_!’ from him, though he earns no other response.

“Hmph!” Hinata grunts, turning onto his side. He pouts into his pillow. He knows that the joke Kageyama made is supposed to be just that- a joke- but he can’t help the vortex of emotions- of  _ has Kageyama actually considered sleeping in the same bed with him, or is he actually disgusted by the thought of sharing a bed with a man? _ \- that threaten to drive him mad. Why did Kageyama have to add ’ _ now _ ’ to his statement? Why is he so-

“Thanks,” Kageyama begins to mutter, clearing his throat. “… For buying me the milk.”

Hinata’s eyes fly open. Internally, Hinata screams and shakes from side to side. Kageyama  _ listened _ to him, and is truly gracious! Kageyama actually accepted his pity, and is even willing to thank him for it, now!

Externally, however, Hinata maintains a normal facade. “Oh, yeah,” Hinata whispers, turning over to face Kageyama. “You’re welcome.”

The moonlight seeps in through the window, bathing the two in its calming light, sending them off into a deep, comfortable sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

It is just a few days later when Hinata finds his room empty.

“Kageyama…?” Hinata whispers, taking a few, hesitant steps into his bedroom. Goosebumps race over his flesh, and his heartbeat begins to pound a nauseating rhythm. “Kageyama,” Hinata breathes, helplessly.

His stomach drops. No, no,  _ no.  _ What if Kageyama just…  _ left _ ? Is that even possible? 

Not even a single ‘goodbye?’ He has begun to think that they’ve been getting along better; that maybe, just maybe, the thief would stick around, even after his wound healed.

Maybe, Hinata is just stupid.

“No,” Hinata whispers, eyes frantic. The rug where Kageyama has been sleeping has a blanket, stolen from Hinata’s bed, strewn about, a bundle of cloth used as a makeshift pillow, and-

_ And a note. _ Hinata rushes over, nearly tripping over a long-sleeved tunic that is lying on his floor. He picks it up, willing his hands to stop trembling, before he is able to read it. The words are scrawled, nearly illegible. Hinata has to squint to read them.

“Hinata-

I’m on the roof. see me if you need anything

-Kageyama”

Hinata seethes. He throws down the sheet of paper onto the floor, whirling to exit the bedroom and stomp up the small flight of rickety stairs up to the rooftop.

All that goes through Hinata’s mind is that he is going to  _ kill _ Kageyama.

“ _ Kageyama! _ ” Hinata shouts, slamming the rooftop door behind him. His eyes latch on to the tall figure, who is enjoying the lively night plaza view from the rooftop, and Hinata curses as Kageyama turns to face him. 

“Hina-“

“Kageyama, how _ dare  _ you?!” Hinata cries, charging at the thief whose pleasant expression transforms to one of confusion. 

“What the hell, what are you-“

“Stupid,  _ idiot! _ ” Hinata shouts, grabbing the front of Kageyama’s tunic and shaking him, albeit only slightly. “I thought you- I thought you  _ left!” _

Kageyama is staring at him, wide-eyed and brows knit. “I wrote you a note-“

“I  _ know _ , but you’re just so  _ stupid _ , you just weren’t there, and I thought maybe you got kidnapped by the government-“

“The government doesn’t know what my face looks like!” Kageyama shouts, irritably. 

“But what if they saw your scar! What if-“

“Okay, calm down-“

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Hinata cries, before his breath catches, his fists in mid-air, aimed at Kageyama’s chest.

What is he doing, and why does he even care? He shouldn’t care. Kageyama is just a thief, who is supposed to go back out, and do…  _ thief-ly _ things, when he is physically capable.

Hinata takes a few breaths, lowering his fists and staring blankly at them.

“Hinata, I-“ Kageyama begins, hesitant. “I didn’t know you… wanted me to stay.”

“ _ What?”  _ Hinata asks, as if it is the most preposterous notion in the world. “When did I ever say  _ that _ ?”

“I just assumed it was natural!”

“No, but-“ Hinata starts, before his eyes widen. He actually doesn’t know when Kageyama is going to leave; hasn’t truly considered it. Sure, he’s played with the idea of Kageyama staying until his hand healed, but there was never a  _ goodbye _ after the injury healed; never any true parting.

And it makes something in Hinata’s chest drop.

“No, but, you  _ can’t _ ,” Hinata says, furrowing his brows and shaking his head. He straightens up at the strange gaze Kageyama affixes him with. “I mean, obviously, if you have to, you can leave, but I always thought,” Hinata breathes. “I always thought you’d just  _ stay _ .”

There is no answer, and Hinata raises his gaze, slowly, to find Kageyama, with an unnameable expression on his face.

“You mean, I can… stay,” Kageyama says, cautiously.

“Obviously!” Hinata nods furiously. “You can let Giovanni give you some work in the bakery, or find some other job nearby-“

“What about my scar?” Kageyama cuts in. Hinata’s eyes widen, and his gaze flies to the scar, slightly exposed to the crisp night air. It is just a shadow; a forgotten memory of painful humiliation, and one that Kageyama must carry for the rest of his life. 

Hinata winces, looking at the crimson dyed flesh, imagining the horrifying torment that Kageyama has endured. “Maybe we can, um,” Hinata begins. His palms feel sweatier than usual under Kageyama’s critical stare. “Maybe you can work in the actual bakery, so customers don’t see you, or-“

“Don’t you have other workers, too?” Kageyama cuts him off again, and Hinata frowns. Kageyama is right. There is no place for him where he can brandish his scar.

_ Unless- _

“Hold on!” Hinata exclaims, unable to contain his excitement. He leaps back. “I’ll be right back!”

“What-?“

Hinata is taken off, throwing the roof door open and racing down the staircase to his bedroom. 

“Paint, paint,” Hinata murmurs, leaping to his bed and scrambling underneath it to find his set of paint and paintbrushes. Because they are tempera, all he will need a few, skin-toned colors to match Kageyama’s skin tone, a sheet of paper, and a soft-haired paintbrush.

In moments, he is flying up the stairs again, this time earning another few angry shouts from Giovanni and apologizing with a laugh, before he is up on the rooftop again, carelessly slamming the door behind him.

Kageyama is still in the same place, giving Hinata an odd look at the paint materials he is carrying.

“Hinata, what in the  _ world _ -“

“If I can just paint your scar, so it looks like normal skin,” Hinata pants, “No one will recognize you!”

Kageyama continues to stare at him, clear wrinkles punctuating his forehead, giving him a wide-eyed expression.

“C’mon, please, Kageyama!” Hinata pleads, tugging at Kageyama’s collar.

“ _ Okay _ , fine!” Kageyama yells, flustered and rolling his eyes. He pulls the collar of his tunic down, throwing his head to the side. “I doubt it’ll work, though!”

Hinata feels his lips tug upwards at Kageyama’s skepticism. “Oh, you won’t know until you try!” Hinata smiles, ignoring the frown on Kageyama’s face. 

Hinata sets down all of his materials on the railing of the barrier between the rooftop and the glowing plaza below. He can’t help but grin as he places his brush between his teeth- which he knows is disgusting, but it makes him feel like a young Leonardo da Vinci, so he does it anyway- and sets his paint cans open, preparing a dab of each on the thick sheet of paper he is holding.

Hinata catches Kageyama eyeing him, and quickly wills away the squirming feeling in his chest as he approaches Kageyama. 

“Hold on,” Hinata murmurs, carefully turning Kageyama’s head more to the side so he has a better view, missing the way Kageyama’s shoulders jump when he does so. “I have to check…”

“What- what are you doing-“

“Just checking the color,” Hinata responds, taking the brush from his mouth and swirling together an approximate shade of Kageyama’s skin on the paper he is holding. Hinata dabs at it, using his non dominant hand to hold Kageyama’s jaw still. It is warm under his fingers.

“Don’t move,” Hinata says, concentrating on the crown-shaped scar. “Is it sensitive?”

“Not anymore, just-  _ urgh _ !” 

“Ka- Kageyama? Sorry, did it hurt?” Hinata asks, furrowing his brows when Kageyama splutters as he taps it with his finger. Kageyama is glaring at him, his cheeks slightly red and his lips turned down.

“No,” Kageyama says, gaze jumping away. “It just- felt weird.”

“Oh. Okay,” Hinata chuckles, though he stops at the cold yet flustered glare that Kageyama gives him. 

Kageyama clears his throat. “Just keep going.”

Hinata takes Kageyama’s suggestion, dabbing lightly at his scar. He slowly covers the red with a more natural-looking shade, making sure to paint over the scar delicately. Whenever Kageyama winces, Hinata bites his lip, murmuring a quiet, ‘sorry,’ in return.

Hinata sets his brush down on the wall, turning to admire his work. He pats himself on the back. Though the scar welts up slightly, it is difficult to tell that a scar was ever there in the first place, much less that it is in the shape of a crown.

“Does it feel okay?” Hinata asks, biting his lip. Kageyama glances at him, turning his head from side to side experimentally, avoiding Hinata’s eyes.

“It’s fine.”

“Really?” Hinata exclaims, jumping up on his feet.

“Does it really hide the scar?” Kageyama asks, patting the skin with his fingers.

“Oh, don’t touch it!” Hinata warns, grabbing Kageyama’s wrist- checking to make sure it is Kageyama’s good hand, so that he can be more physical- before realizing the odd position they are in.

Hinata is leaning against Kageyama’s chest, pushing him against the railing, while holding onto Kageyama’s hand. He can feel the hardness of Kageyama’s chest, and for a moment, Hinata’s mind flashes back to Kageyama, shirtless on the floor, the first night he took him in.

“S-Sorry!” Hinata jumps back, letting go of Kageyama’s hand as he scratches the back of his head. “I- That was-“

“Idiot,” Kageyama mutters, and Hinata’s eyes jump anxiously to Kageyama’s making sure he hasn’t angered him. 

Suddenly, there is a hand in his hair, pushing Hinata down and scratching his head. “O-Ow!” Hinata cries, barely registering that Kageyama is willingly scratching his head. Hinata grabs Kageyama’s wrist in his hair, laughing, and raises his gaze to Kageyama’s face again.

And Kageyama is biting back a grin, and it’s kind of terrifying, in Kageyama’s own way, but it’s also horribly  _ cute _ , too, and Hinata smiles back.

Suddenly, the hand is out of his hair, and Kageyama’s hand is frozen in the air, his face just as still as his limbs.

“Kageyama…?” Hinata begins, his smile slowly fading. “What-“

“N-Nothing!” Kageyama shouts, frowning and looking off below to the plaza. He mutters something under his breath, and Hinata frowns.

“What?” Hinata asks, accusingly, narrowing his eyes. “Did you say something?”

Kageyama is silent, avoiding his gaze with pursed lips, and Hinata swears he can feel his irritation bubbling in the air. 

“If you want to tell me something, just-“

“You’re an idiot,” Kageyama says, and for a second, Hinata thinks he mishears what Kageyama says.

“W-What?! Kageyama, I thought it worked! We can use the paint and cover up your scar!” Hinata protests.

“That’s not what I’m talking about!” Kageyama yells. He clenches his fist by his side, eyes turned down. He takes his bad hand, wincing as he trails his fingers across the branding scar, and Hinata isn’t sure if it’s from physical pain he is feeling, now, or the pain of torturous memories. 

Hinata watches, carefully, as Kageyama begins to speak. “I don’t understand,” Kageyama says, keeping his hand, still, against the scar. “I don’t understand why you’re not disgusted of this. Of  _ me _ .”

Hinata’s eyes widen. He can’t help but let his lips part in surprise; at how much self-hatred Kageyama carries, and how long he must have been carrying this burden with him.

And, truthfully, he doesn’t know how to answer. But he does it anyway. 

“Because that doesn’t define you,” Hinata says, letting a breath of air out of his nose. “Dummy.” He feels Kageyama’s gaze dart to him at the affectionate insult, and he shoves down the feelings in his chest. “And I know it’s just some- well, not  _ just _ , but it’s a horrible scar of torture- which I feel  _ really _ bad- I mean, I don’t pity, but it’s just, like, I-“

“It’s fine,” Kageyama cuts in, and at the sharp, warning glance Hinata throws at him, Kageyama shakes his head. “I mean, I get what you’re  _ saying _ . That it’s not just about pity.”

Hinata’s eyes widen. “I- Yeah!” Hinata splutters, forgetting what he even originally meant to say at how Kageyama  _ understanding _ him makes his heart jump. At the strange, awkward glance Kageyama gives him, Hinata continues. “I mean, yes. That’s what I meant. And, also, I just- I hated a lot of things about the government, but I  _ really _ hate the physical torture they do- that’s why I stopped the police the first time I met you, too- and if people can even make it out alive, how they carry a lot of the scars with them, out of prison.”

Hinata breathes in and out, willing himself to stop getting so worked up over tirades. He glances up at Kageyama, who is giving him a sorrowful stare. Kageyama’s eyes flit away, and for a second, Hinata thinks Kageyama is going to ignore all of what he has said, but Kageyama gets his attention when he sighs.

“I escaped, right after they branded me,” Kageyama says, quietly, as if he is afraid that louder words will carry his secret to the crowd below. “Easily bribable guards they gave me, surprisingly.” He takes a breath, continuing. “Although the branding part… really fucking sucked.”

Hinata shares Kageyama’s grimace in empathy, at the way Kageyama’s eyes glaze over in painful recollection. 

“Do you… know about the cardinal’s hat?” Kageyama questions, giving Hinata a tired glance. Hinata nods his head. It is what cardinals of the Catholic church wear. Kageyama continues to to explain. “The Arrabbiati supports the Pope, so knowing I was the son of an Arrabbiati activist, they thought it would be ingenious to combine the ‘red hat’ idea with their mockery of vanity, and branded me with a King’s crown.” Kageyama snorts, although his eyes are narrowed and angry. “How creative of them.”

Hinata stares at him, for a moment, before lifting his hand to brush the now covered-up scar. He sees Kageyama’s shoulders jump as he touches it.

“… I’m really sorry,” Hinata says, eyes narrowed in imagined anguish, despite knowing Kageyama has all the right to get mad at him for pitying him again. “For ever thinking you were just any common thief.” He raises his gaze to meet Kageyama’s eyes.

Kageyama’s eyes are wide, his brows furrowed as he stares back at Hinata. Hinata begins to think that maybe, he overstepped the boundary of expressing pity,  _ again _ , and he begins to pull back, though he stops when Kageyama speaks again.

“No one’s ever seen the scar,” Kageyama whispers, lowering his gaze. “Other than the people who gave it to me. Obviously.”

“Is that why,” Hinata asks, “there aren’t any wanted posters of your face?”

Kageyama nods, slowly “The few people who branded me knew what I looked like, but they’re not artists.” Kageyama continues. “And it’s not like the people who burn paintings in the name of morality are going to hire artists to paint my face from their memory.”

Hinata’s eyes widen. It does make sense, in a way, and Kageyama’s words serve to remind him of the cold intelligence Kageyama holds of life on the streets. 

“Are you really going to go back to living on the streets?” Hinata asks, giving him a wistful gaze. 

Kageyama looks at Hinata, and Hinata barely sees the flicker of pain in Kageyama’s eyes before he turns away, avoiding Hinata’s gaze. “I don’t know,” Kageyama murmurs, looking down at the plaza again. 

And Hinata wants to will away the pain in Kageyama’s eyes; the way he always looks away in memory of a torturous past, or the way he clams up and physically collapses in on himself to shelter himself from judgmental eyes.

So, Hinata raises his palm to Kageyama’s cheek, ignoring the way Kageyama’s eyes widen incredibly. The skin of his cheek is soft and reminds Hinata of fresh dough, which makes him chuckle, lightly.

“…What?” Kageyama says, tightening his jaw under Hinata’s fingers.

“I don’t know,” Hinata breathes, staring into Kageyama’s eyes. “I’m just… kind of, um, glad I met you.”


	8. Chapter 8

It is one night, after a long, busy day of serving in the cafe, when Kageyama suffers a nightmare. 

Hinata rouses to the sound of mumbling and moaning, and at first, he thinks that Kageyama is talking in his sleep. His opinion changes, however, when he listens more closely.

“ _ S-Stop _ ,” Hinata hears. His voice sounds awful and hoarse, and Hinata feels a chill run down his spine. He quickly turns from the wall, propping himself up on his elbow to look down over the side of the bed. 

Kageyama’s face is furrowed and vexed, as though trapped in a horrible nightmare.

“Kageyama,” Hinata says, worriedly. Kageyama does not respond, instead grasping at his collar, grasping at his-

_ Grabbing his scar _ . 

“Kageyama,” Hinata repeats, more urgently this time. “Kage-“

Kageyama grunts out a large groan, and he clutches more desperately at the scar on his neck. 

Hinata jumps out of his bed to Kageyama’s side, grabbing Kageyama’s shoulders and taking care not to touch where he is bruised.

Hinata shakes him, staring worriedly at Kageyama’s closed eyes and wrinkled brow. “Kageyama!” Hinata shouts, hiding the desperation in his voice no longer. “ _ Merda, _ Kageyama, Kageya-“

Kageyama’s eyes shoot open, making Hinata fall back against the bed in surprise.

“ _ Merda _ ,” Kageyama mutters, wiping the sweat off his brow and gazing at Hinata. 

“K-Kageyama! You’re awake!” Hinata cries, lips tugging up in a gracious smile. “Thank goodness!”

Despite Hinata’s joy, however, Kageyama sighs, gazing up at the ceiling. Hinata’s smile fades away, and at the silence that follows, Hinata sits, close-mouthed.

“It was just a nightmare,” Kageyama says, breaking the silence. Hinata looks up, watching Kageyama’s eyes. “It’s fine-“

“It’s not fine!” Hinata suddenly butts in, earning surprised eyes from Kageyama. He feels his own heart thrash angrily in his chest, and clenches his fists at his sides. “You’re always ‘I’m fine,’ ‘I’m okay,’ but you’re not!”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” Kageyama bites out, in such a scathing tone that Hinata inwardly feels as though someone as physically punched him in the chest. “And I keep telling you to quit  _ worrying _ about me-“

“Because I  _ care _ about you!” Hinata shouts, hands trembling at his sides. He feels tears threatening to fall at the corners of his eyes, and looks down at the floor. Kageyama’s eyes are burning into the top of his head. He continues, his voice slightly more defeated. “I don’t know what your life out on the streets was like, but I’m not- I’m not  _ pitying _ you. Or, at least, I don’t think I am.” Hinata shakes his head. That sounded unconvincing, he thinks. He needs to go for a more direct approach. “So that’s why you’re going to sleep with me.”

“ _ What _ ?” Kageyama hisses, and Hinata’s eyes jump up. That had sounded a lot worse- a lot more sexual than he had meant.

“I- I meant- I was trying to say, um,” Hinata stumbles, his tongue feeling more loose and slippery than usual. He can’t stop the heat blooming in his cheeks, and he keeps fumbling with his fingers. What if Kageyama thinks he is disgusting, for suggesting something like that? “I meant-“

“ _ Idiota, _ ” Kageyama mutters. Hinata’s stomach twists at how his tone is more affectionate than disgusted; a good sign.

“I-I just meant, as in, so you don’t have anymore nightmares!” Hinata spits out, his voice squeaking oddly towards the end. Fuck, he is just an embarrassing mess. “You- you know, to prove my point about the worrying thing? So it’s fine if you just want to ignore-“

“Okay,” Kageyama agrees.

“O-Okay,” Hinata mumbles, quickly and dejectedly. He scratches his neck, awkwardly, avoiding Kageyama’s eyes as he clambers back on to his bed. “I guess- um, goodnight.”

His heart is pounding. Fuck, he hopes Kageyama can’t hear how loud his chest is. Hinata curls up into a ball, pushing up against the wall next to the bed. Maybe he can just disappear, here- just never see Kageyama ever again.

His thoughts are cut off when he feels a pressure on the opposite side of the bed- the side where Kageyama is sleeping on the floor. Hinata freezes in place.

The weight grows, and Hinata flops over to find Kageyama laying himself on the side of his bed.

“What-  _ what are you doing _ ?” Hinata exclaims, staring wide-eyed at Kageyama, who gives him an odd look in return.

“Didn’t you just tell me to sleep with you?” Kageyama counters, glaring. 

“I- I thought you said you were going to ignore me!” Hinata squeaks, pulling the bedsheets up over his mouth.  _ Fuck _ , he cannot catch a break. 

Kageyama stares at him for a moment, narrowing his eyes further. He reaches up his good hand, making Hinata squeal and clamp his eyes shut.

_ Flick _ .

Hinata flinches, opening his eyes cautiously as he realizes that Kageyama has just  _ flicked _ his forehead with his fingers. 

Suddenly, there is a tug of force that nearly knocks Hinata over. Kageyama has pulled over the bedsheets to his side, turning around so that his back faces Hinata.

“ _ Idiota, _ ” Kageyama says again, keeping a firm grip on the sheets that Hinata feebly attempts to yank back, to no avail. “Go to bed.”

“I need the sheets!” Hinata argues, pulling several times on the sheets before frowning and deflating back onto the bed. “ _ Tonto _ .”

“Just- just move closer, so you’re not up against the wall,” Kageyama mutters.

Hinata feels himself freeze, again. He already feels close enough to Kageyama as it is, sharing the same  _ bed _ as him, but  _ snuggling _ up to the man feels… like he is crossing a line.

Apparently, Hinata does not move fast enough to satisfy Kageyama, and the thief rolls over, giving Hinata a piercing gaze before sliding closer.

And Hinata’s chest does  _ not _ want to be quiet, and instead wants to incriminate him, it seems, because Hinata swears Kageyama should be able to hear how loud his heart is pounding. Because the thief is so  _ close _ to him, and his frame so much larger and masculine, that it makes Hinata’s face go hot.

Because Kageyama’s head is above him, Hinata can’t tell what expression Kageyama is wearing when he says, “Calm down. I’m not going to do anything.”

Hinata swallows. “I- that’s not why I’m nervous!”

“I can hear your heart pounding from up here, and that’s not going to help me sleep,” Kageyama says, shifting his position. Hinata bites back a squeal as Kageyama’s hand brushes against his cheek. “Just sleep.”

Hinata bites back an,  _ easy for you to say _ , attempting to find comfort beside Kageyama in the bed. He doesn’t know how Kageyama can be this  _ calm _ next to him; maybe he’s done this before, or maybe he’s-

Hinata gulps, feeling an uneasy wave of nausea pass over him. Maybe Kageyama sleeps with people,  _ women, _ most definitely, all the time, because he’s an attractive human male. Although, Hinata isn’t sure how Kageyama would manage to hide his scar from them- but  _ maybe _ , they would like sleeping with a thief for the dangerous rush, maybe-

“Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” Kageyama whispers. Hinata responds with a questioning,  _ huh _ , when there is a warm arm around him, and Hinata physically shakes in surprise. “You’ve been groaning and shifting around like you’re wounded.”

“Oh,” is all Hinata can muster. He hadn’t even been aware of it. And he knows he needs to stop thinking of it, now, or else he’ll anger Kageyama, and most likely worry himself sick over a stupid, meaningless, temporary feeling.


	9. Chapter 9

When Hinata awakens, soft, dawn sunlight is pouring in through the window and into his eyes. He feels content and relaxed and warm, and rolls over, rubbing his face into-

Into the crook of Kageyama’s neck. Who, Hinata realizes, is watching him with lazy eyes.

“I- Morning!” Hinata shouts, pushing himself up on his arms and finding himself nearly straddling Kageyama, with his arms on either side of Kageyama’s chest and one of his knees between Kageyama’s legs. Hinata cries out, falling backwards, luckily, onto the makeshift bed on the rug below.

“ _ Cazzo!  _ What the hell are you doing?” Kageyama shouts, snapping up to look over the side of the bed.

“I-I was just, um,” Hinata stammers, chuckling and avoiding Kageyama’s eyes. “I… lost balance.”

“It’s morning, quit making a ruckus,  _ cristo _ ,” Kageyama grumbles, leaning back on the bed. He looks away from Hinata, scratching his hair. “ _ Merda.” _

“Hey, it’s not like you’re such a saint either, potty mouth!” Hinata argues, frowning as he stands up to head to his closet. He begins to unclothe.

“You’re the one who woke me up so early,” Kageyama mutters back, glaring at Hinata.

Hinata narrows his eyes at Kageyama. “Well, who was the one who wanted to sleep with me in bed, hm?” Hinata puts his hand at his hip, though he knows that if anything, he looks comical in only his undershorts. 

Kageyama’s eyes trail down, and Hinata expects a snort of laughter, but all he gets is some more grumbling and Kageyama turning over in bed.

Hinata narrows his eyes at Kageyama’s dark form, only slightly illuminated by the morning light- and smirks devilishly.

Kageyama is going to pay for treating him so  _ rudely _ .

Hinata creeps over, stepping on the floorboards that he knows will not creak until he looks over the bed, cackling in his mind. Slowly, ever so slowly, he sticks his hands out, reaching for Kageyama’s side and neck, until his palms are just barely grazing the skin. And Hinata  _ pounces _ on Kageyama.

“ _ Ack _ !” Kageyama grunts, head snapping around to look at Hinata. “Hinata,  _ testa di cazzo _ , I’ll-!” Kageyama is cut off by his own choked out laughter, and he lurches forward, in a strange mixture of trying to make Hinata stop and trying to protect himself.

And, fuck, Hinata has never seen something as attractive as Kageyama, red-faced and laughing. 

Hinata continues his assault, taking mind to not scratch Kageyama’s scar or his still injured hand, and in seconds finds himself straddling Kageyama once more.

This time, mostly naked.

Kageyama is spitting out an awkward mixture of  _ ‘idiota’ _ , ‘ _ merda _ ,’ and ‘ _ Hinata, figlio di putana _ !’, before he is able to grab ahold of Hinata’s wrists, both, in his good hand.

“ _ Oh _ , Hinata, you’ve asked for it now,” Kageyama growls, uncharacteristically emphatic, as he pushes down Hinata onto the bed, holding down his wrists with the arm of his good hand while tickling away at Hinata’s stomach.

“S- _ Stop _ , Kageyama- haha!” Hinata cries out, a mixture of loud cackling and teary eyes. “Stop, stop, c’mon, Kageya- ow, haha!”

And, suddenly, Kageyama does stop. Hinata snaps his gaze up to find a panting, glaring, frowning Kageyama looking over him. 

"Kageyama...?" Hinata begins, grin fading as his uncertainty grows. Kageyama has the perfect leverage and advantage over him, so there should be no reason for him to stop tickling Hinata, Hinata thinks.

Suddenly, Kageyama lowers himself on top of Hinata, and Hinata lets out an 'oof!' of air as his weight presses down on him.

As Hinata begins to protest, Kageyama cuts him off with a loud sigh, and a, "Just stay like this."

Hinata's eyes widen, his hands still at his sides. Since when was Kageyama a needy, touchy baby?

"Kage-"

“ _ Stai zitto _ ,” Kageyama whispers. 

"No, seriously, I have work," Hinata mumbles, feeling his chest pounding. His entire body feels wobbly and weak. “I, um, can’t stay like this.”

Kageyama starts ignoring him when they almost kisstakes a breath, exhaling into Hinata’s side. For a moment, Hinata thinks Kageyama will just fall asleep on top of him, and he begins to reach over to grab Kageyama’s shoulder.

Kageyama, however, rolls over, grunting as he lands on the bed. He gazes at Hinata for a second before covering his eyes with his forearm.

Hinata gets up, taking Kageyama’s actions as an admission to leave. “Kageyama, um, rest well?”

“Hmph,” is all Kageyama grunts back in response, before grabbing the covers and yanking them over his head and rolling over to face the wall.

Hinata watches Kageyama, cheeks still dusted pink, and wonders what is going on through the thief’s head as he prepares for work.


End file.
